Honeysuckle Vine
by lydiamaartin
Summary: Ever since she was a little girl, Molly Weasley II had wondered about the honeysuckle vine growing outside her bedroom. - MollyLorcan


**Disclaimer: Don't own anybody you recognize.**

**Written for Beth's Prompts – 'dance', 'Irish', 'silk', 'ivory', and 'innocent'.**

**Also dedicated to my twin (Bethhhhhhh, again =P) for generally being awesome and helping me get over my writer's block! Love you, twinny!

* * *

**

Ever since she was a little girl, she'd wondered about the pretty honeysuckle vine growing on the outside of her bedroom.

* * *

"_Mum," Molly asks, tugging on her mother's sleeve to get her attention. "What does a honeysuckle symbolize?"_

_Audrey blinks down at her daughter, astonishment written in those blue-green eyes that Molly had inherited. "I don't know, sweetheart. Why?"_

_Molly sighs. "I was just wondering. Can you bring me some sunflower seeds from the market? I need some more."_

"_Sure thing, darling," laughs Audrey, bending to kiss her daughter on the head.

* * *

_"_All I know is that it's some kind of Irish flower," her father tells her when she asks. "Why?"_

"_Just wondering," Molly says, drumming her fingers on the kitchen table. "Don't you know about flower symbolism, Dad?"_

_Percy snorts. "Symbolism is just a bunch of nonsense by the same people who think Divination is of any practical use in the real word. Growing flowers is all well and good, darling, but don't read too much into them, all right?"_

_Molly absently traces a flower on the glass of the table. "All right, Dad."

* * *

_"_Lucy? Do you know what a honeysuckle means?" she asks, peering around the pink-painted door into Lucy's equally-pink bedroom._

_Her twin sister glances up at her from the book she's reading – probably another one of those Narnia books, Molly thinks. "No. Why would I?"_

"_Nobody knows," Molly says, frustrated. "There's one growing outside my bedroom and I want to know what it means!"_

"_Why don't you look it up?" Lucy suggests sensibly._

"_On what? One of Mum's crazy Muggle devices?"_

_Lucy shrugs. "Why not? You're the flower girl, Molly, not me."

* * *

_She never does find out what honeysuckle means. For a while, she just forgets about it, returning to her bright, blooming garden and once in a while admiring the pretty, coral-pink honeysuckles twisting all over her bedroom wall.

* * *

"Why do you have honeysuckle growing outside your bedroom?"

The question, spoken lightly and curiously, makes her head turn to look at the speaker. "I don't know. It's been there since forever."

Lorcan glances away from his examination of the vine to flash her a smile. "It's very pretty."

"Thank you," Molly says unsurely, batting away a strand of red hair from her face. "Daddy says it's Irish."

"That's cool," Lorcan beams, eyes lighting up. "My dad's half-Irish, you know. We used to have honeysuckle growing in our backyard, but it died when we went on a year-long trip to Greece."

"You've been to Greece?" Molly asks, wonderstruck. "I've always loved Greek mythology!"

"Yeah, me, too!" he exclaims, seeming as delighted as any eight-year-old boy can be. "I always thought – "

"Lorcan!" Lucy calls, interrupting their conversation as she pokes her head out of the door leading to the backyard. "Come play with us! We need another boy!"

"Um," Lorcan begins, offering her a sheepish smile. "I have to go."

"Have fun," Molly tells him, smiling lightly.

"Do you want to play with us?" he asks on a whim.

She shakes her head, red curls bouncing. "No, I'm fine, thanks. I have to water my plants, anyway."

Lorcan lingers in her garden for a moment, his silver-blue eyes alternating between her slight frame and the blooming flowers behind her, before he flashes her a smile. "All right, then. I'll see you around."

"Bye, Lorcan," she says, watching as he bounds away to a gleeful Lucy, who tugs him inside to play with her and Lysander and Lily and Dominique – the fivesome that happened to be her best (only) friends.

Molly touches a honeysuckle flower and wonders just what it all means.

* * *

At Hogwarts during their fifth year, Lucy comes up to her one day, which is unusual in and of itself – Lucy's too busy being a social butterfly, flirting and gossiping and studying and being the perfect daughter, while Molly's always lost in the vast gardens behind the castle and in the Room of Requirement where she can grow flowers to her heart's desire.

"I need your help, Molls," Lucy says, sounding breathless.

Molly blinks, her fingers trailing over the dewy petals of a bluebell. "With what?"

"There's a dance coming up next year," Lucy begins, pacing around the garden, "and I want Lorcan to ask me. So, I need a way to make it obvious that I like him before then."

Molly thinks of Lorcan, with his cheerful grin and never-ending jokes and brightbright silver eyes, and sighs. "I don't know how to help you, Lucy. You might not have noticed, but I don't exactly have boys lining up at my door."

Lucy wrinkles her nose. "That's because you're always busy with your flowers and gardens, Molly. If you bothered to look around and make friends and – "

"I have Lily and Dominique," Molly protests. "I'm fine in my gardens. Sorry, Luce, but I can't help you."

"Can't you at least tell me what Lorcan likes?" Lucy cries, blue eyes wide in desperation, and Molly feels a little sorry for her lovesick sister. Having grown up with five male cousins, she knows first-hand just how oblivious boys can be, but at the same time –

"He's your best friend," Molly reminds her gently, her hand gliding over, twisting around, and plucking out a honeysuckle from among the rows of flowers. "I'll see you around, Luce."

She walks away, still twirling the honeysuckle in her hands – for some reason, it always reminded her of the bright-eyed, ever-smiling boy her sister was so in love with.

* * *

"Hey, Molly!" Lorcan greets, ever cheerful, and immediately, her suspicions are raised.

"What are you doing here?" she demands, whirling away from a belladonna to look at him.

Lorcan holds up his hands in surrender. "Easy there, flower girl. I had a question for you."

Molly reaches for the nearest watering can, waving her free hand at him. "Go ahead."

He takes a moment, watching her as she waters the belladonna and then it's neighboring flowers. "What kind of flowers does Lucy like?"

She freezes up, water still dripping from her still can. "I…I don't know. Why?"

"I want to do something special for Valentine's Day," he explains, stepping closer towards her. "And girls like flowers and chocolate, right?"

"Right." Molly shakes her head to clear it. "Of course. Well, um, perhaps a rose? Lucy's all about cliché, and red roses never fail."

Lorcan's eyes light up. "That could work! It'll be like one of those romance novels she's always reading."

Molly resists the urge to correct him – _The Chronicles of Narnia_ aren't exactly romance novels – and says, "Yeah, and there are plenty all over the school gardens. It'd be easy to find one."

"Will you help me look?" he asks her, flashing her his most charming smile.

She tilts her head. "What's in it for me?"

Lorcan raises an eyebrow. "You're supposed to be a Ravenclaw, flower girl. Where's this Slytherin tendency coming from?"

Molly gives him her most innocent look. "I'm friends with Lily and Dominique, you know."

He laughs. "Fair enough. How about I tell you what honeysuckle means?"

She nearly trips. "_Huh_?"

Lorcan grins, reaching over to steady her. "I said I'll tell you what honeysuckle means. I asked my Mum a while back and she told me, but I kept forgetting to tell you."

Molly looks incredulously at him. "Fine. I'll show you where the rose garden is, and you'll tell me what honeysuckle means."

"Deal." He extends a hand.

She clasps it, shakes it, and offers him a rare smile. "Deal."

* * *

"These roses are really pretty," Lorcan muses, running his fingers over the blood-red petals of one. "What does this one mean?"

"Love," she answers instantly. "Passion. It's the universal lovers' flower."

Lorcan sends her an amused look. "You know, it's kind of amazing how much you know about flowers, yet you know nothing about the honeysuckle."

Molly huffs, crossing her arms. "I _would_, if I could figure out how to use Mum's silly Internet thingamajig. None of the flower books I read ever talk about honeysuckle, which is funny considering it's an Irish flower and Ireland is part of Britain. Maybe it's just a wizarding quirk."

"Books are funny things," Lorcan agrees, grinning mischievously at her. "That's why I try to avoid them."

"You're hilarious," she says lightly, smothering a giggle – no need to feed his ego, after all. "Are you going to pick the rose or what?"

"Right," Lorcan says, but he makes no move to pick it. "What?" he demands defensively at the look she sends him. "They have thorns!"

Molly rolls her eyes. "Are you a wizard or what?"

"Oh." He looks a little sheepish. "Right."

Lorcan draws his wand and aims it at the rose. A few cutting spells later, he plucks the now-thornless red rose and twirls it around in his fingers. "Thanks, Molly."

His smile is sweet and cheerful and kind of makes her want to melt – but she can't, because he's Lucy's, _remember_? "You're welcome. Now, what about our deal?"

"Of course," he smiles, beckoning her closer as if it were some sort of great secret. "They mean a lot of things, according to Mum. True love, generosity, love that clings like the honeysuckle vine. In European lore, if there's a honeysuckle blossoming near your home, a wedding will follow. Or perhaps properity and money. It can also mean life's sweetness or devotion. Basically, though, it's a pretty cool plant."

Molly beams. "Thank you."

Lorcan grins and tweaks a cherry-red curl of hers. "Does that mean you're going to be getting married soon, flower girl?"

"No," Molly draws out the word, sticking her tongue out at him. "I'm not getting married."

"Good," says Lorcan, interrupting the rest of her retort with an endearing smile. "See you around, Molls."

He wanders off, the red rose still in his hands, leaving Molly with thoughts of honeysuckle swirling around her mind.

* * *

"You're going to the dance," Lily had said, her most stubborn expression written on her face, earlier that night.

Aand then she had strongarmed Molly into a pink-orange silk dress that she claimed highlighted her (blue-green) eyes (what the _heck_?) and (uncomfortable) heels and (itchy) make-up and (tacky) flower pins in her (gelled) cherry-red curls.

"This is awful," Molly declares, staring at her _too_ pretty reflection with growing horror.

"Oh, relax – you look gorgeous!" Lily beams, smoothing down her own deep green dress (how come _her_ dress didn't clash with her hair?). "You'll blow them all away!"

"Lily," Molly says, deliberately slow, through gritted teeth, "I don't _have_ anyone to blow away. I don't have a boyfriend. Or a crush. Or friends in general, really. And I would very much prefer you undo all of this silly dressing up and let me go back to my gardens."

"You're _always_ in your gardens, Molly," Dominique pipes up, swinging an arm around her. "I mean, I understand having a passion – but you don't see me always stargazing!"

Molly levels her a deadpan look. "Because you can only stargaze at night."

"Come on," Lily says, hopping up and looping her arms through both Dominique's and Molly's. "We have to stop by Gryffindor to pick up Lucy and then go to the dance. No begging out of it, Molls!"

They drag her out of their dormitory, through the Ravenclaw Common Room, and over to the opposite end of the castle to get Lucy before heading to the Great Hall.

It might just be the most pointless, ridiculous journey she has ever undertaken.

* * *

Through a stroke of luck, she manages to sneak away early into the dance and head out to the gardens to relax and breathe in the fresh air.

And then, naturally, Lorcan Scamander has to ruin her peace and tranquility by wandering into the gardens.

"What are you doing?" he asks her, surprising her with his sudden appearance.

Molly jumps nearly two feet in the air, then whirls around to glare at him. "Don't _do_ that, Scamander!"

"Sorry," Lorcan grins, seeming amused. "I was just wondering why you were out here all alone instead of inside enjoying the party."

"Because I'd rather be in the fresh air with my flowers than dancing with boys who don't know my name," she retorts, absentmindedly unpinning an absurdly glittery pin shaped like a golden rose from her hair. "What's your excuse?"

"I'd rather be with you than watching Lysander and Lily flirt sickeningly with each other," he replies simply, loosening his tie.

Molly raises an eyebrow. "What about Lucy?"

"Oh, she's having far too much fun roping all her cousins into dancing with her," Lorcan answers. "As entertaining as James's pain is, I prefer the fresh air."

"That makes two of us," she mumbles, wondering if she could get away with abandoning the clip in the gardens.

"You can't," Lorcan says as if he read her thoughts. "Lily and Dominique might kill you."

Molly blinks. "How did you know what I was thinking?"

Lorcan grins, sauntering closer towards her. "I've always been good at reading people. And you more than most."

His voice is light and gentle and, for some strange reason, his words make butterflies spin around inside her stomach. "Why is that?" she asks, feeling a little dizzy from his proximity.

"I don't know," he admits, now standing face to face with her – well, face to chest, as he's a good foot taller. "Ever since I saw that honeysuckle outside your bedroom, Molly, I've wondered about you. And you're not exactly hard to read."

She blinks. "Is that an insult or a compliment?"

He grins warmly at her. "Take it as a compliment. Please."

Molly laughs, folding her arms. "You just don't want me to smack you."

"That's always a plus," he admits, joining in on her laughter. "So, uh, any new interesting flower facts to regale me with?"

She giggles. "Pick a flower and I'll tell you about it."

Lorcan hums for a moment, considering, then points to a beautiful ivory rose in full bloom behind her. "That white one."

Molly turns to inspect it. "White roses are symbolic of purity, secrecy, and innocence. They're rather popular for brides to carry at weddings."

He smiles at her, reaches out, and plucks the rose. "For you, then. This rendezvous can be our little secret."

She accepts it, giggling, and runs her hands over the pretty ivory petals. "That's silly. There's no reason for this to be a secret."

"Fine, then, for your wedding," Lorcan amends, winking at her. "Because according to your honeysuckle – "

"Shut up!" Molly laughs, jabbing the petals at his chest. "I told you, I'm _not_ getting married any time soon! We're only sixteen!"

Lorcan grins, gently forcing her hand away. "Whatever you say, Molls."

There's a lull in the conversation as they both stand there, smiling at each other, his hand still brushing hers, the ivory rose _ohso_bright in between them, his silvery gaze fixed on her blue-green eyes. All around them, spring flowers are blooming brightly, fresh night breezes swirling around the gardens, and above them, stars glitter in the fading golden light of the sun.

"You look really pretty tonight, Molly," he finally says, breaking the silence, his voice low and deep.

Her heartbeat triples. "Thanks."

Lorcan coughs, looking away and dropping her hand. "I should probably go inside. Lucy might get antsy if forced to wait for a dance for too long."

Molly laughs lightly. "Yeah. Have fun."

"Are you sure you don't want to come inside?" he asks her curiously, his words an echo of the same question he'd asked her eight years ago in her own garden.

She shakes her head, twirling the rose around her fingers. "I'm positive. Go on."

Lorcan swallows, flashes her a smile, and darts back inside to a waiting Lucy.

Molly watches him go, and it occurs to her that she's _always_ the one watching him go, whether there's a honeysuckle or a rose in her hands.

* * *

Sixth year bleeds into seventh, and soon enough, she's constantly in her gardens, studying feverishly instead of watering and wondering how on Earth she's going to get that apprenticeship with Professor Longbottom when he refused Victoire, the resident Herbology genius in the family, all those years ago.

"You ought to relax, you know," Lorcan says brightly one day, interrupting her reading of how to make a banana dance. "All that studying can't be good for you."

Molly tilts her head up to look at him. "Says the boy who doesn't know where the library is."

Lorcan grins at her. "Come on. Why don't we have some fun? I know this great courtyard with a waterfall where we can just jump in – "

"Don't you have a date with Lucy or something?" Molly interrupts, exasperated.

His grin turns mischievous. "Why? Jealous?"

"You wish," she mutters, giggling in spite of herself. "Seriously, Lorc, I need to study."

He kneels down and covers her hands with his own, gently closing the book. "Molly. You don't need to study. You're the smartest witch in this castle since Rose, all right? You're going to ace those NEWTs. And in the meantime, I want someone to play with, as I absolutely cannot coax Lucy or Lysander away from their books."

The warmth of his skin against hers makes her blush. "Have you tried Lily and Dominique? I'm sure they're not studying."

Lorcan smiles at her. "I want to spend time with you."

It's the sweetest, most honest compliment a boy has ever paid her, and it does nothing to cool her blush. "Oh. Um – well, then, I guess…I guess I can spare a few minutes."

He grins. "Awesome. C'mon!"

And then he drags her away from her books, away from the garden, and into a world of waterfalls and Lorcan's idea of fun.

Perhaps she hadn't _quite_ known what she was signing up for.

* * *

"This is stupid," Molly complains, wading into the pool and trying to pretend she wasn't enjoying herself.

Lorcan, predictably, sees right through her. "It is not. You're having fun."

"Am not!" she retorts, sticking her tongue out in a thoroughly childish gesture.

Lorcan laughs. "Are too!" Just for effect, he splashes her.

Molly shrieks and dives aside. "You prat!"

"You love it," he grins, swimming closer, his dizzying silver-blue eyes bright with amusement. "Come on – when was the last time you got to have fun like this?"

"I have fun gardening," she points out, crossing her arms.

"I'm sure you do," he says patiently. "But admit it – this makes you feel like a little kid, doesn't it?"

She laughs softly. "I suppose it does, at that. But I'm still not going to _thank_ you for it."

"That's fine," Lorcan shrugs. "Just as long as you can handle losing a splashing war."

Her jaw drops. "I was right – you _are_ a prat."

She gathers all her strength and sends him the biggest splash of water she's ever seen.

Soaked, spluttering, and sporting a delightfully see-through shirt, Lorcan smirks at her. "It's _on_, flower girl."

* * *

Many hours later, they're both standing at the edge of the pool, Lorcan shirtless, Molly attempting to wring out her curls, both having thoroughly exhausted themselves in the water.

"That was fun," she admits, smiling up at him.

Lorcan grins. "Told you so."

Molly laughs. "Because I totally won that last water fight," she adds teasingly.

He stares at her in mock-outrage. "Did _not_! I completely soaked you!"

"Did too," she giggles, twisting her mass of curls around her hand.

"You're delusional," he declares, stepping closer, and she finds herself wondering if it was humanly possible to have _such_ pretty eyes.

"Says the deluded one," she retorts, feeling her heart rate speed up again.

Lorcan flashes her a grin, and it occurs to her that he's really, _really _close, and if she just reached up a little, his lips would be –

"What's going on?" interrupts Lucy's cheerful voice as her sister wanders into the courtyard.

Molly jerks herself away. "Oh, nothing. Just – just relaxing."

Lucy's brow furrows in – oh, Merlin, Molly hates to think it, but – _suspicion_. "Really? Just the two of you? Alone?"

"Luce, we were just playing in the water," Lorcan says placatingly.

"Why aren't you wearing a shirt?" she demands.

"We were in the water," Molly explains, willing her blush to cool, as Lorcan stumbles around for an answer. "He was swimming, Luce. Seriously, you have nothing to be worried about."

"Right." Lucy takes a deep breath, then offers them both a smile. "I'm sorry, I'm just a little stressed. Lorcan, Lily and Dominique are looking for you. Something about a prank you need to pull?"

"I'll be right there," says Lorcan, still not looking at either of them, and grabs his shirt, hastily pulling it on. "Bye, Molly. Bye, Lucy."

He brushes a kiss to Lucy's cheek, then darts out of the courtyard, leaving Molly alone with her sister.

"You might want to use a drying charm," Lucy points out helpfully.

Molly blinks. "Um. Right. Of course. Thanks."

Lucy nods, then turns and walks out in the direction of her boyfriend.

Molly sighs and sinks down to the ground. Life was so much simpler when all she had to worry about was a honeysuckle vine.

* * *

Winter brings with it holiday parties of epic proportions – as if the Weasley family could do anything less.

"Merry Christmas, Molly!" Lorcan beams, bounding over to the center of her garden during the middle of one these parties at her house and shoving a messily-wrapped present at her.

Molly blinks at him, a little bemused. "Um, Merry Christmas to you, too, Lorcan," she echoes, taking the present with mittened hands. "Thanks."

Lorcan grins. "No problem. But open it quick before Lucy comes to nag me about being outside in this weather." He shivers for effect, teasing a smile out of her.

Quickly, she unwraps the present and tosses aside the wrapping paper. Inside, there's a glass box, with cotton inside and a letter taped to the front that obscures her present. Before she can open the card to read it, Lorcan's hands wrap around hers, effectively stopping her.

"Wait till later," he urges. "I really want you to see the present."

Molly offers him a smile and pockets the card, revealing the present it was hiding. Staring up at her, surrounded by cotton and glass is a beautiful pink honeysuckle, magically preserved in full bloom, it's petals bright against the white of the cotton. It's the exact same shade as the ones growing along her bedroom wall.

"I thought you might like one to keep inside your bedroom, for a change," Lorcan tells her, shoving his hands in his pockets and grinning adorably at her.

"I love it," she breathes, hugging the box to her chest. "Thank you."

Before she can change her mind, she darts forward and presses her lips to his cheek.

"You're welcome," he murmurs, sounding a little dazed, one of his hands reaching up to rest on the spot her lips had touched. "I'll…um, see you later, I guess."

"Bye," Molly says with a smile, glancing down at her honeysuckle. "Does this mean there's going to be a wedding in our house soon?"

Lorcan laughs. "Maybe. Who're you gonna marry, flower girl?"

She giggles. "I have no idea."

But she has a pretty good idea of who she _wants_ to marry.

* * *

Lucy and Lorcan break up halfway into seventh year and the whole school goes into shock.

Molly thinks it's rather amusing to watch Lily and Dominique freak out over the news, but maybe that's just her?

"What happened?" she asks after making her way through the Gryffindor Common Room and into the boys' dormitory to find Lorcan sitting on his bed, thankfully alone, reading a book his mother had published about her animals.

"I don't know, what happened?" he asks, glancing up and flashing her a grin.

Molly rolls her eyes, wishing those butterflies in her stomach would stop whirling around every time he so much as smiled at her. "With you and Lucy."

Lorcan looks back at his book and highlights a couple of words with his muggle highlighter. "Oh, that. We broke up."

"Why?" she presses, making herself comfortable on his bed. "You two were the perfect couple. Almost moreso than Teddy and Victoire."

"Well, clearly, we weren't perfect enough," he says, sounding a little annoyed. "Why don't you go ask Lucy? She's the one who broke up with me."

"Lily and Dominique are busy interrogating her," Molly tells him, crossing her legs. "What reason did she give you?"

"We were growing apart, it wasn't working out," Lorcan repeats. "Molly, honestly, there's no need for you to comfort me. I – "

"What makes you think I'm here to comfort you?" she interrupts, a smile playing on her lips.

Lorcan stares at her for a moment, then offers her a grin. "You're impossible, you know that?"

"I've been told," Molly giggles. "I'll see you around, Lorcan."

His silvery-blue eyes seem a little more brighter now. "Yeah. Bye, Molly."

She waves, standing, and walks out of his dorm, sparing a thought to reflect on how he was finally watching _her_ leave.

* * *

NEWTs and graduation pass in a whirlwind of feverish studying and lots of time in the library and crying parents and cheering classmates.

Molly spends most of it in the gardens, which are now unequivocally hers to stay in – nobody else enters them, except for her family and friends. Throughout the tests, she's constantly surrounded by books and objects to enchant, and during graduation, she manages to escape from her tearful mother and equally-tearful-though-he-tries-to-hide-it father and laughing classmates and wander over to her favorite garden.

"Hey, there," interrupts a light, familiar voice, making her jump and whip around to find Lorcan leaning against a tree, grinning at her. "Whatcha doing out here all alone? Shouldn't you be celebrating graduation with the rest of us?"

"I just wanted to be here one last time," Molly explains with a smile, crossing her arms and wishing the pretty turquoise dress her sister had forced her into wasn't quite so short and sleeveless. "I love these gardens. I spent most of my adolescence in here."

"I know," Lorcan laughs. "You'll always be our flower girl, won't you?"

"You know it," she grins. "What are you doing out here?"

"I had something to talk to you about, actually," he says, suddenly serious. "My parents are paying for me to take a tour around the world so I can record sightings of new and old animals and then write a book about it. It's always been a dream of mine, you know, not just to see the animals they're forever talking about, but also to tour the world and explore it all."

"What does that have to do with me?" she asks, a little breathless because he's walking closer and closer and _closer_.

His hands are suddenly warm on the bare skin of her arm. "I want you to come with me, Molly. You can hunt for new species of plants and write about them for my book."

"Wha – why me?" Molly demands, eyes wide. "Why not Lucy or Lysander or – "

"They're going to be busy, Molls," Lorcan smiles. "They're all got jobs at the Ministry or at your uncle's joke shop or at St. Mungo's, and you're the only one I really want to keep me company. Will you come with me? We can explore the world, eat exotic food, discover new information about animals and plants – "

"Yes," she breathes. "Yes, of course I'll go with you!"

Lorcan grins. "Awesome."

He sweeps her into a warm hug, his arms strong and comfortable around her waist, his heartbeat beneath her fingers, and, surrounded by her precious flowers and the blueblue skies and the delight of graduation, she doesn't think she's ever felt happier.

* * *

Greece is, naturally, their first stop, because she doesn't think either of them have forgotten that long-ago conversation about honeysuckle vines and Greek mythology.

"How are you liking Greece, flower girl?" Lorcan asks her with a smile one breezy summer's day while they're relaxing in an outdoor café.

"It's wonderful," Molly beams, taking a sip of her smoothie. "We haven't actually gone searching for animals and plants yet, though."

"I thought we should take a breather before we jump into work," Lorcan grins, winking at her before turning to beckon to a waiter. "One more smoothie, please."

The waiter, a handsome young blond, flashes a charming smile at Molly. "Anything for you, miss?"

"No, thanks, I'm fine," Molly says politely, not failing to notice Lorcan straighten in his seat.

"Are you sure?" needles the waiter.

"She said she's fine," interrupts Lorcan.

The waiter draws back, frowning at her companion. "All right, then. I'll be right back."

"I don't like him," Lorcan says immediately as soon as he's out of view.

Molly takes another sip of her smoothie, trying to will the butterflies in her stomach away. "Any particular reason?"

Lorcan glances away, a blush on his cheeks. "No," he mutters.

Molly bites her lip. "All right, then. Maybe after this we should head out to the gardens in search of animals and plants?'

"Sounds like a plan," he grins, reaching over to brush a cherry-red curl out of her face. "This is going to be amazing."

She laughs. "Yeah. I bet it is."

Molly hadn't known then just how amazing things were going to be.

* * *

"Do you remember that honeysuckle vine growing outside your bedroom wall?" Lorcan asks, kneeling down to cup a honeysuckle flower in his hands.

"Yeah," she smiles, squatting down beside him. "I remember."

With a swift tug, he pulls the honeysuckle out of its vine and presents it to her. "In memorium of our childhood days," he says, mock-formally.

Molly giggles and accepts the flower. "Thank you."

Lorcan's hands sink into his pockets. "You're welcome."

There's an intense kind of energy all around them, and she can feel butterflies fluttering up a storm inside her stomach. His eyes are so very bright and silver in the hazy dusklight, and he's very, _very_ close (but this time, he's not taken), and he's leaning down, one hand wrapping around her waist, and all she really wants to do is –

For the space of a heartbeat, the honeysuckle is pressed between their bodies, the last barrier between him and her and _LorcanandMolly_.

* * *

Luck of the Irish (flowers) really does ring true.

* * *

**Author's Notes: 80th fic. _Wow_. It's kind of unbelievable, but also kind of totally awesome :D  
**

**Oh, and guess who converted herself to yet another pairing? Yes, that's me, the ultra-weird-coupling shipper, and can I just say – I absolutely **_**adore**_** these two, now? MollyLysander shippers are gonna tear me apart for it, but whatever =P**

**Don't favorite without reviewing, please and thank you. I really appreciate all your reviews! Thanks! =)**


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